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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29441448">The One Where Sherlock Is Cold</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarbear08/pseuds/Sarbear08'>Sarbear08</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes &amp; Related Fandoms</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>But he won't admit it, Cuddling, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, In more ways than one, John takes care of him, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, SO MUCH FLUFF, Sharing a Bed, Sherlock is cuddly, Sick Fic, Sick Sherlock, and john is hot, the one where sherlock is cold</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 17:29:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,308</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29441448</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarbear08/pseuds/Sarbear08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>John had long since lost track of how many times the detective had sneezed. <br/>“Take him home, John,” Lestrade said. “He really doesn’t look well.”<br/>“I know. I’ve never seen him look like this.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sherlock Holmes &amp; John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>214</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The One Where Sherlock Is Cold</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Achoo!”</p>
<p>John glanced over the top of his paper. </p>
<p>“‘M fine,” Sherlock said without looking away from his laptop. </p>
<p>John raised an eyebrow. </p>
<p>“I don’t get <em>sick,</em>” Sherlock grumbled, curling his upper lip and turning his nose up as if the very idea was positively revolting to so much as think about. </p>
<p>“Right,” John said. He sounded rather unconvinced. </p>
<p>Sherlock resumed his typing. </p>
<p>He sneezed three more times before they got the call from Lestrade. </p>
<p>“You shouldn’t be going out like this, especially not in this weather,” John warned as they donned their coats, handing Sherlock his scarf rather forcefully. </p>
<p>Sherlock frowned. “Not sick.”</p>
<p>“Mmhm.”</p>
<p>Sherlock shivered as they stepped out into the February snow, the ice crunching beneath their boot-clad feet. This did not escape John’s attention. </p>
<p>By the time they’d arrived at the crime scene—which just so happened to be outdoors—Sherlock’s nose and cheeks had turned a shade of pink far brighter than the weather warranted, and he’d sneezed six more times, each with increasing force. </p>
<p>Less than twenty minutes later, long after Sherlock had solved the case—and shouted at an innumerable number of apparently incompetent New Scotland Yard officers, namely Anderson—he was sniffling and his entire body was shaking rather violently with the chill. John had long since lost track of how many times the detective had sneezed. </p>
<p>“Take him home, John,” Lestrade said. “He really doesn’t look well.”</p>
<p>“I know. I’ve never seen him look like this.”</p>
<p>Lestrade nodded in agreement and wandered off to fetch a cab for the two of them. </p>
<p>“Sherlock?” John asked, tugging at the other man’s sleeve. “You alright?”</p>
<p>“Hmm?” Sherlock hummed and shut his eyes as another shiver wracked through his body. </p>
<p>“Okay, now you’re concerning me. Let’s go. Home. Now,” John demanded. </p>
<p>They clambered into the back seat of the cab Lestrade had hailed for them and John gave the cabbie their address at Baker Street. </p>
<p>Sherlock sneezed rather forcefully two more times and burrowed down as far as he could into his Belstaff, his shivers becoming more and more violent and all-consuming by the minute.</p>
<p>“Cold?” John asked as he reached for Sherlock’s forehead. “God, you’re like ice, come here Sherlock.”</p>
<p>John pulled Sherlock towards him and pressed him against his chest, wrapping both his coat and his arms around the detective and rubbing his hands up and down his back in an attempt to warm him from the friction. Sherlock ducked his head and pressed his face into the crook of John’s neck, snuffling pitifully as he did so.</p>
<p>“Excuse me?” John addressed the cabbie. “Could you please turn the heat up?”</p>
<p>The cabbie glared at John. John glared back. It was a silent argument the cabbie didn’t stand a single chance of being victorious in.</p>
<p>After a long moment of tension-filled silence, the cabbie gave an indignant huff and turned the heat up, as requested. </p>
<p>“Thank you,” Sherlock murmured into John’s neck. </p>
<p>John figured Sherlock must be quite sick if he was going so far as to actually thank him. </p>
<p>They drove in silence, save for the occasional sniffling coming from the vicinity of John’s neck. They were nearly back to the flat when Sherlock spoke again. </p>
<p>“S’ cold, John. So cold.” He curled closer, pulling his leg up on the seat until it was pressed across John’s very warm thigh. </p>
<p>“I know,” John commiserated. “Almost there.”</p>
<p>When they reached the flat, John was sweating from the heat that had been radiating throughout the cab, much to the cabbies chagrin, yet Sherlock was still shivering.</p>
<p>“Come on,” John said, ushering Sherlock in through the door of their flat and helping him shed his coat. “Straight to bed, you.”</p>
<p>Sherlock made very little protest as John led him by the arm down the hallway to his bedroom—another testament as to just how ill he truly was feeling. </p>
<p>John gave Sherlock five minutes to change into something decidedly more comfortable than his suit and after six minutes and one thoroughly frustrated ‘harumph,’ John gave up and knocked on the door. </p>
<p>“Sherlock? You alright in there?”</p>
<p>There was silence save for another exasperated huff and rather concerningly loud thunk. </p>
<p>“Sherlock?” John called. “I’m coming in.”</p>
<p>He swung the door slowly open to find that Sherlock had managed to successfully change into an old pair of sweatpants, but had seemed to get stuck with his shirt—quite literally. He’d managed to get his suit jacket and dress shirt off, but had subsequently gotten his sweatshirt stuck halfway on, directly over his eyes and blocking his vision. John just barely managed to stifle a chuckle. </p>
<p>“I can– achoo! Hear you,” came a grumble, muffled considerably by the heavy material of the sweatshirt. </p>
<p>“Sorry,” John shrugged and tugged at the hem of the sweatshirt until it popped the remainder of the way down Sherlock’s head. </p>
<p>“Come on,” John cleared his throat and gestured to the bed as he pulled back the blankets. </p>
<p>Sherlock climbed in without so much as a fuss and burrowed underneath the sheets. </p>
<p>“Warm enough?”</p>
<p>Sherlock grunted a response that John took to be a no. </p>
<p>“Hold on, I’ll grab the blanket from the sofa.” John popped into the sitting room and retrieved the blanket. It was thin, but at least it would provide an extra layer of warmth for the detective. </p>
<p>Sherlock was nearly asleep when John returned and placed the blanket across the bed, tucking the corners around Sherlock to keep the heat in. Sherlock burrowed deep under the blankets, clinging to them as though his very life depended on it. </p>
<p>“All right?” John asked. </p>
<p>He received a minute nod accompanied by a positively miserable sniffle. </p>
<p>“I won’t be far if you need anything.” John hesitated for a moment, studying Sherlock’s face. John had never seen him look quite so pale before and his eyes—normally alight with wonder—were dull and cold, silently speaking volumes as to just how horrible Sherlock was truly feeling. John’s heart twisted painfully in his chest. </p>
<p>Sherlock reached for the doctor as he turned to leave, his long fingers ice cold where they wrapped themselves around John’s wrist and held fast, unwilling to let him go. </p>
<p>“Stay,” Sherlock croaked pitifully. “Please. Stay.”</p>
<p>“Sherlock, I–”</p>
<p>“Please.”</p>
<p>What little was left of John’s resolve crumbled to a million tiny pieces. </p>
<p>“Alright. I’ll stay,” he assured Sherlock. “Just let me grab my computer.”</p>
<p>By the time John had returned to Sherlock’s bedroom, computer in hand, the detective was fast asleep, his face pressed deeply into the pillow and the covers pulled high around his shoulders. John slid on top of the covers on the opposite side of the bed, resting his back against the headboard and being careful not to jostle the bed too much and risk waking Sherlock. He looked positively peaceful when he slept and far younger, John noticed—the lines of concentration that were so common were nowhere to be found. John smiled to himself at the sight. </p>
<p>He nearly managed to finish typing up a new post for his blog when his eyes suddenly grew unbearably heavy. He set the computer aside and fell asleep before he’d even had time to properly lie down.</p>
<p>******</p>
<p>John woke in the middle of the night with a fairly intense amount of pain throbbing through his bad shoulder. He blinked the sleep from his eyes and glanced around the darkened bedroom, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the lack of light. As he continued to wake and return to reality, he suddenly became aware of a weight pressed against his lap. </p>
<p>John glanced down, his face heating to find that at some point in the night, Sherlock had curled up against him, his head pressed into the side of John’s stomach. One of Sherlock’s arms was slung across John’s lap, his fingers curled tightly around John’s hip, ensuring that he couldn’t move anywhere. </p>
<p>John silently wrapped an arm around Sherlock’s shoulders, his other hand finding its way into the mop of dark curls atop Sherlock’s head. He was lulled asleep once more by Sherlock’s light, rhythmic breaths filling the silence of the bedroom. </p>
<p>******</p>
<p>When John woke next, it was not of his own volition—Sherlock was still draped across John’s lap, but he was shivering fiercely, his entire body shuddering against John. </p>
<p>“Sherlock? Sherlock, are you awake?” John asked, gently shaking the other man’s shoulder. </p>
<p>Sherlock groaned as he stirred, the sound vibrating through John’s stomach where Sherlock’s face was still pressed into him. </p>
<p>“Sherlock?” John’s voice wavered with concern. “You alright? Christ, you’re freezing.”</p>
<p>“Mmm. Cold,” Sherlock mumbled, nuzzling closer until his head was entirely in John’s lap. </p>
<p>John was sure his face turned a vibrant shade red at the inopportune placement of Sherlock’s head. </p>
<p>John cleared his throat. “We’ve got to get you warm Sherlock.” </p>
<p>He tugged the blankets higher on Sherlock’s body until his head was the only thing visible in the dim light and rubbed small circles across the detective’s back in the hope that the friction would help warm him, however marginally. Sherlock hummed softly in appreciation. </p>
<p>Despite all the experiments that ended with a potentially harmful smoke lingering in the air, or how many things Sherlock had deemed necessary to lick at a crime scene, John had never seen the man quite so sick. Or sick at all, for that matter. </p>
<p>John glanced at the bedside clock: nearly four in the morning. John sighed. Neither of them were going to get any sleep like this, he decided as he wrapped Sherlock into a cocoon of blankets and gently removed him from his lap, placing him back on the opposite side of the bed before slipping out of the room as quietly as possible. He made his way upstairs to collect the large blanket from his bed—it seemed they would need all the warmth they could get for the rest of the night until Sherlock’s fever hopefully broke in the morning. </p>
<p>John tucked the worn blanket under his arm, taking care not to trip over the ends as he crept back into Sherlock’s bedroom. </p>
<p>As diligently as he tried not to wake Sherlock when he laid the blanket across the bed, the detective shifted, causing a new handful of shivers to wrack through his weakened body. </p>
<p>“Shhh. It’s alright. Go back to sleep,” John urged. </p>
<p>“Hmm?” Sherlock moaned, rubbing at his eyes. Upon seeing John’s blanket laid across his bed, Sherlock’s brow crinkled and he glanced up at John, a slight hint of panic written clear across his sharp features. “Don’t go,” he pleaded.</p>
<p>“Relax,” John assured him. “It’s alright.” When the worry didn’t seem to have any intention of leaving Sherlock, John added, “I’m staying. Go back to sleep.”</p>
<p>Sherlock’s face relaxed in an instant, a clear picture of relief noticeably washing over him as John slid back under the covers next to him—and if he was a bit closer to the detective, well, neither man cared to point it out. </p>
<p>Sherlock curled his body around John’s before the doctor even had time to settle in properly and promptly fell asleep with his face buried in the crook of John’s neck. </p>
<p>Much to John’s relief, the chill that had incessantly been plaguing Sherlock had miraculously nearly vanished by the time they woke late the next morning. Save for a slightly weakened, fatigued Sherlock, he was more or less back to normal and insisted on moving to the sofa to watch crap telly and nap the remainder of his ailment away. Upon John’s insistence, Sherlock allowed himself to be wrapped in multiple blankets and drank an entire mug of herbal tea that Mrs. Hudson had so graciously brought up. </p>
<p>By mid-afternoon, John insisted that Sherlock at least try to eat some reheated soup that Mrs. Hudson had brought up with the tea earlier that morning, saying ‘nothing heals like my chicken soup recipe, so eat up dear!’</p>
<p>“Jawwwnnnn,” Sherlock moaned, rolling across the sofa into John until his face was pressed into John’s shoulder. </p>
<p>“Yes,” John said sternly. “You need to eat. Keep your strength up.”</p>
<p>“Hmmmhgh,” Sherlock groaned in complaint, tossing an arm across John’s stomach. </p>
<p>“Sherlock,” John warned. </p>
<p>“‘M want t’ stay here,” Sherlock mumbled. </p>
<p>“Eat. Now,” John demanded. </p>
<p>Sherlock ignored him. </p>
<p>“Fine.” John pried himself from Sherlock’s grasp despite the litany of complaints from the man and slipped away into the kitchen, but not before shoving the bowl of now lukewarm soup insistently closer to Sherlock on their coffee table. </p>
<p>When John peeked into the sitting room from around the corner of the kitchen a few moments later, he was delighted to find Sherlock slurping down the soup, albeit with an amusing combination of a pout and frown worn on his face—how he managed to make such a face whilst eating and managing not to spill anything, John would never know. </p>
<p>As soon as Sherlock had finished the entire bowl of soup, John returned to the sofa and slipped under the blankets as gently as possible so as not to create any drafts of cool air. To John’s surprise, as soon as he’d settled on the sofa, Sherlock shifted, wrapping the blankets around his shoulders and then clambered into John’s lap, his knees resting on either side of John’s thighs. </p>
<p>“Woah, there.” John clutched Sherlock’s hips to steady him and prevent him from tumbling backwards off the sofa as he wobbled precariously in John’s lap. In response, Sherlock looped his long arms around John’s neck and dropped his head into the crook of John’s neck, letting out a long sigh. </p>
<p>“Feeling better?” John asked quietly. </p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>“Good. Very good.” John cleared his throat. “Y’know something, Sherlock?” </p>
<p>“I know many things, John.”</p>
<p>“You’re quite cuddly when you’re sick,” John said affectionately. </p>
<p>“I am not <em>cuddly</em>.” Sherlock sniffed and pressed himself closer against John. </p>
<p>“You are.”</p>
<p>“Shut up.”</p>
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